#one of the few times you get to see his tattoos

[callsigns-haze]

The quiet ones

Summary: You surprise the Dagger Squad by revealing your secret to Bob, who shyly but lovingly melts into your kiss as the others watch in shock, as shy guys are your type.

Chapter Warning: Secret relationship reveal, unexpected PDA, and flustered teammates, drinking.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x reader

The sun is barely up, casting a soft glow over the empty beach outside The Hard Deck as you pull open the doors and step into the familiar dimness of the bar.

You've been doing this for years—unlocking before the heat of the day sets in, setting up stools, and sliding glasses onto the shelves with the smooth rhythm you've perfected. Today feels the same, but something in the air hints it won't be an ordinary shift. There's a buzz, the sort that comes with Navy missions brewing, whispered over drinks in tones low enough that only bartenders know how to hear.

You're wiping down the bar when the door creaks open. You look up and spot a guy with dark-rimmed glasses, a touch of shyness evident in the way he stands at the door, scanning the place like he’s about to get reprimanded just for being here early. He's tall but sort of unassuming, a guy who'd rather fade into the background. He's a contrast to the pilots who usually come in loud, all bravado and swagger. You recognize him instantly: Bob, the quiet one who stands at the edges of the Dagger Squad.

As he approaches, you give him a slow, easy smile and cross your arms, leaning back. "Hey there. Early start for you guys?"

He swallows hard, adjusting his glasses. “Uh…yeah. Just…getting a round for the squad.” His voice is barely audible, like he’s half-hoping you’ll mishear and let him walk away without much fuss.

Your eyes flick over him, taking in his nervous fidgeting. It’s endearing, really, the way he seems like he'd rather be anywhere but standing across from you. And maybe it’s because he's the polar opposite of the loud types, but you can’t help teasing him a little.

“So…who’s in charge of this little mission?” you ask, setting down a few glasses with a subtle clink.

He hesitates, caught off guard by the question. “Uh…Admiral Simpson.”

You chuckle. “Beau? That's my uncle."

Bob's eyes widen, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he stammers out a response. "Oh. Uh, wow. I… I didn’t know." The faintest blush creeps up his cheeks, and he looks down, almost embarrassed to be caught off guard like that.

You can’t resist needling him just a bit more, leaning in just close enough to watch him fluster. You know the effect you have—the low neckline of your top, the tattoos trailing down your arm, the glint of your piercings just visible through the thin fabric. He’s doing his best not to stare, but his eyes flick down for a split second before he yanks his gaze back up, his face turning redder by the second.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a smirk, letting your fingers trace the rim of a glass, “your secret’s safe with me.”

“Uh…thanks. I just—um, I’ll take…uh, the round,” he manages, his voice catching as you pour the drinks.

You can see his struggle—the way he wants to say something, but every time he opens his mouth, he clams up. He's never met anyone like you before, that’s obvious. The confidence, the tattoos, the piercings peeking through the fabric—it all ties together into something that leaves him completely off balance. And he’s… well, adorable.

As you slide the last glass across the bar to him, you give him a wink. “See you around, Bob. Bring your friends by sometime.”

He mutters a quiet “thank you” and shuffles out, beers in hand and cheeks flushed. And as he heads out the door, you can't help but grin to yourself, wondering if he’ll find the nerve to say more next time.

---

It’s a typical night at The Hard Deck, the bar buzzing with energy, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and rock music blaring from the jukebox. The place is packed with Navy types, just as it always is when there’s no active mission holding them back. You’re behind the bar, quick on your feet, sliding drinks to customers and catching up with the regulars. Then, through the crowd, you spot him.

Hangman strides up to the bar with that cocky swagger he’s famous for. Tall, blond, and all confidence, he’s got a grin that could charm the devil himself. And he knows it. Tonight, he’s dressed in his usual off-duty look—just tight enough T-shirt and a leather jacket slung over his shoulder, looking every bit the guy who doesn’t take “no” for an answer. But that’s the game he plays, and tonight you’re ready for him.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he drawls, leaning across the bar just a little too close. “Thought you’d be closed by now.”

You raise an eyebrow, resting your hands on the bar and meeting his gaze without flinching. “Well, I thought you’d be up in the air by now,” you shoot back, your tone teasing. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

He chuckles, clearly delighted by the challenge. “All right, you got me there,” he says, glancing around. “But I’ve got a list for you. The squad’s thirsty tonight.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” you say, pulling out a row of glasses, ready to work but giving him your full attention.

He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone. “Well, let’s start with two beers for Phoenix and Bob. Can’t have ‘em dehydrating, right?” There’s a slight pause, and he gives you a smirk, his gaze lingering a bit longer than necessary. “Make sure Bob’s is extra cold—he’s, uh, still cooling off after the last time you talked to him.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you start on the beers. “Don’t tell me he’s still flustered from that., it's been years.”

“Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance with you around, no matter the time,” Hangman says with a wink. “But hey, he’ll survive. Next up, Coyote wants a whiskey—neat. You know how he is. And Rooster…” He pauses, rolling his eyes in that way he does whenever he brings up Rooster. “Rooster’s a beer guy, as usual. But let’s give him the lighter stuff. Don’t want him trying to prove anything tonight.”

You slide the beers across to him, already pouring the whiskey as he keeps going. “And what about you, Hangman?” you ask, tossing him a smirk. “Anything special, or do you just want a mirror to stare into?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth. “Ouch, darlin’. That one stings.” He places a hand over his heart, feigning offense before letting his gaze flick down to the line of tattoos trailing up your arm, then back to meet your eyes with a mischievous glint. “But as long as you’re the one serving, I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

You pour him a whiskey, sliding it over the bar with a raised brow. “Think you can handle it?”

He picks up the glass, holding it up to you with that easy, confident grin. “Oh, I can handle a lot more than that. But I like a bartender who can keep me on my toes.” He takes a sip, never breaking eye contact, letting the moment hang in the air.

The bar is still loud around you, but there’s a beat where it’s just you and him, his gaze heavy and flirtatious, yours daring him to keep going. He leans in a little closer, his voice a quiet murmur. “You know, we should get a drink somewhere else sometime. Just you and me.”

You lean back, letting a slow smile spread across your face, but truly this guy is not for you. “Oh, is that an invitation?”

“Consider it an open one,” he replies, giving you a wink before stepping back to gather up the drinks. “But hey, don’t take too long thinking it over. I don’t like waiting.”

It’s been a busy night, the bar still packed as the crowd buzzes with the kind of energy that only comes when there’s no telling when the next mission will roll around. You’re behind the bar, catching your breath after that last round, when you catch sight of Rooster winding his way through the crowd, headed straight for you.

He’s wearing his usual laid-back style—well-worn jeans, a vintage band T-shirt, and that aviator jacket slung over his shoulders. He looks like something out of a different time, especially with those sunglasses perched up in his curls, even though it’s night. Rooster always has this quiet, steady confidence, like he knows he doesn’t need to announce himself. And there’s something a little different in his step as he approaches you, maybe a touch of playfulness in the way he’s looking at you, a half-smile already curving on his lips.

“Hey, bartender,” he says, leaning onto the bar with an easy grin. “I’m back for the squad’s refills, but this time I think we’re changing things up.”

“Oh yeah?” You give him an amused look, resting your hands on the bar and leaning in just enough to close the space between you. “Guessing Hangman finally realized he can order something other than whiskey?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, Hangman’s hard to change. But the rest of us? We’re open to suggestions. Figured you might know what we need better than we do.”

You raise a brow, sensing the tease in his tone. “Oh, so now I’m in charge of drinks? Guess I must be moving up in the world.”

“Better believe it.” He flashes you a quick grin. “But you still gotta keep me entertained while you’re at it.”

You laugh, reaching for a row of glasses. “Let me see… Something tells me you could handle a little extra kick tonight.” You pour a round of tequila for Phoenix and Coyote, grabbing lime wedges and a sprinkle of salt for the rims.

“Tequila for Phoenix and Coyote,” you announce, lining them up. “And… let’s do something different for Bob. A Moscow Mule might be more his speed—something smooth but not too strong, I know he likes it.”

“Perfect,” Rooster nods, his eyes catching on the way your hands move as you pour, clearly fascinated. “And what do you recommend for me?”

“Hmm,” you say, pretending to consider as you tilt your head, catching his gaze. “Something with a bit of bite, I think. Something… classic.”

You reach for the whiskey, but instead of neat, you add a twist of orange, pouring a well-balanced Old Fashioned. You slide it over to him, catching his eye with a smirk. “Think you’re ready for that?”

He picks up the glass, turning it slowly in his hand, that same lazy smile lingering on his face. “Only if you’re ready to join me for one sometime,” he says, his voice low enough to make sure you catch the hint. He takes a sip, and his gaze stays fixed on you, watching your reaction, clearly testing the waters.

You raise an eyebrow, not about to let him off easy. “And what makes you think I’d go for a guy who takes drink recommendations from the bartender?”

He chuckles, not missing a beat. “Because I don’t think you’d waste your time with just any guy.” He holds your gaze, letting the words hang in the air, something challenging in his smile. “You seem a little… particular.”

“And you think you’re up to the standards?” You tilt your head, leaning on the bar just close enough that he has to take in every word.

His eyes flick down to your arm, where your tattoos catch the light, and then back up to meet yours, a flicker of mischief in his gaze. “I think I’d be willing to try,” he says, his voice smooth, steady. “But I’ll leave it up to you if I get the chance.”

You shake your head, suppressing a grin, and reach for another glass, pouring yourself a splash of soda as you lean back. “How about you focus on delivering those drinks first, hotshot?”

Rooster raises his glass in a mock salute, his eyes never leaving yours. “Alright, boss,” he says, clearly amused. “But don’t think I’m letting this go that easily.”

He picks up the tray, balancing it with practiced ease as he throws one last look over his shoulder before heading back to the squad. You’re left behind the bar, catching your breath with a smile as you watch him go, knowing full well he’ll be back for another round—and maybe another shot at breaking through.

-

The Dagger Squad is clustered around a corner table, the drinks you just served scattered across the tabletop. Conversation and laughter flow easily, but the energy shifts the second Hangman and Rooster start eyeing each other, sizing each other up with cocky grins and sidelong glances. Bob, meanwhile, is trying his best to blend into the background, clutching his Moscow Mule and looking more than a little flustered as he watches his teammates' latest standoff unfold.

“You know, Rooster,” Jake drawls, leaning back in his chair and raising his whiskey with an infuriatingly smug smile, “you’re wasting your time here. She’s clearly more into a guy with… confidence.” He emphasizes the last word, smirking as he takes a slow sip, his eyes flicking over to the bar where you’re serving another customer.

Rooster snorts, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Confidence? Is that what you call whatever it is you do?” He shakes his head, trying to keep his voice casual, but the competitive gleam in his eyes betrays him. “Trust me, Bagman, she’s not going for the guy who struts around like a damn peacock.”

Phoenix snickers, sipping her tequila and watching the scene unfold like it’s her favourite soap opera. “This is priceless,” she mutters to Coyote, who nods, clearly entertained.

“Oh, please,” Jake fires back, unfazed. “You think that ‘slow burn’ routine of yours is going to win her over? Women don’t want to wait around forever. They like a guy who knows what he wants.” He casts another confident glance toward the bar, and Rooster follows his gaze, jaw tightening just slightly.

Bob, meanwhile, is turning a shade of red that nearly matches his squadmate’s call sign. He keeps his eyes firmly on his drink, but Phoenix catches the flush creeping up his neck and nudges him with her elbow.

“Hey, Bob,” she says with a mischievous grin, “you’re awfully quiet over there. What do you think? Who’s got the better shot?”

Bob’s eyes widen as every head at the table turns to look at him. He stammers, his grip tightening on his glass. “I—I don’t know,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “I, uh… I think she’d go for someone… respectful. Kind of… uh…”

Rooster grins, reaching over to pat Bob’s shoulder, his tone almost affectionate. “See, Bob gets it. A guy who’s not all in her face about it.”

Jake rolls his eyes, scoffing as he leans back. “Right. Because nothing says ‘charming’ like shyly staring into your drink.”

Bob just blushes harder, sinking a little lower in his seat as Phoenix pats his back in a show of support. “Ignore them, Bob. They’re just scared you’re the dark horse here,” she teases, sending Jake and Bradley a challenging look.

“Oh, is that it?” Hangman laughs, tipping his glass toward Bob in mock salute. “Tell you what, Bob—if she turns me down, I’ll let you take a shot.”

Rooster shakes his head, chuckling. “Sure, Bob. If Jake somehow fails—and trust me, he will—you’ve got my blessing.”

Bob’s face is now a deep shade of crimson, and he lets out a nervous laugh, clearly mortified. But he can’t resist glancing over toward the bar, where you’re moving easily between customers, completely unaware of the mini-drama playing out across the room.

“You know what?” Rooster says, straightening up and giving Jake a look that’s half-challenge, half-smirk. “Why don’t we let her decide who’s worth her time?”

Jake’s eyes narrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Fine by me, Rooster. May the best man win.”

Bob practically melts into his seat, but despite his obvious embarrassment, there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glances at you.

-

You’ve been keeping an eye on the Dagger Squad from behind the bar, and you’ve caught enough of the banter to know they’re up to something. You can feel the weight of their stares now, so you decide to put them out of their misery. With a knowing smile, you grab a couple of fresh napkins and make your way over to the table, letting your gaze linger on one person in particular.

Bob’s leaning on the railing, doing his best to stay out of the spotlight as Jake and Bradley bicker, each too wrapped up in their little rivalry to notice you coming. Only Phoenix catches your approach, her eyes widening in excitement as she realizes what’s about to happen. She’s the only one who knows, after all.

“Hey, Bobby,” you say with a playful lilt, giving him a warm smile. His head snaps up, his cheeks turning an immediate shade of pink.

You can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but there’s a flicker of pure adoration in his eyes as he takes you in. Without a word, he leans in, brushing his lips softly against yours, his hand finding your waist as he pulls you in. His usual shyness fades as he melts into the kiss, his touch growing just a little bolder, like he’s letting himself savour every second.

Around you, the entire squad has gone silent. Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote are all staring, mouths slightly open in complete disbelief. But it’s not the kiss that has them in shock. It’s the glint of your engagement ring—hanging on a delicate chain around your neck, tucked just under the collar of your shirt. The light catches it as you pull back from Bob, and you see the realization dawn on each of their faces.

“Oh, my god,” Phoenix gasps, covering her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter as she watches Jake and Bradley try to process what they’re seeing. “No way. All this time, and she’s been with… Bobby?” Her eyes sparkle with pure delight as she glances back at you, unable to contain her excitement.

Bob, still flushed from the kiss, shifts awkwardly as he catches sight of his teammates’ stunned expressions. He ducks his head, clearly overwhelmed by all the attention, but there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“Wait…you’re with Bob?” Hangman says, still sounding completely baffled. He shakes his head, his usual confidence gone. “And you’re engaged?”

“Guess we kept it under wraps a little too well,” you say with a smirk, running a hand affectionately through Bob’s hair, watching as he blushes even deeper but relaxes into your touch. He looks at you with such genuine, quiet adoration that it’s impossible not to smile.

Rooster, still processing, lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Wow. And here I was thinking shy guys didn’t stand a chance.”

Phoenix is practically beside herself with joy, and she can’t help but gloat just a little. “Well, guess what, boys?” You grin, crossing your arms. “Turns out all I wanted was the quiet one.”

[angel-bugz]

current ghoapxreader wip that i'm working on... unedited and literally just a word splurge so I can get some writing out there...

Neighbours Simon and Johnny, who have moved into the apartment above yours.

Tattoo artist reader who becomes infatuated with Simon's sleeve. Little does Simon know that Johnny does not like this one bit...

The two are only home on the weekends when not on missions - word spreads fast in the complex that they're in the military. You see them properly on the rare occasion of passing by either one in the hallways or in the elevator. Sometimes seeing one if not both having a cigarette on the little fire escape balcony directly above yours.

After a handful of weekends you quickly learned that Simon is scarily intimidating and barely speaks a word. Though when you get in the same elevator as him, heading back to your apartments, of course you nerd out when you catch a glimpse of his inked up sleeve.

Sweet thing you were, offering him free tattoos any time he liked. You had your own machine and all the equipment at your place, don't worry about booking an appointment! I can do it for free! You'd assure him, beaming that you'd finally squeezed a few words out of him before you stepped onto your floor.

And then there was Johnny, Simon's bubbly roommate. Always cheery no matter the weather. Johnny, who usually never had to worry about Simon getting a girlfriend - because he was so strange and to put it brutally, socially off putting around women. Johnny was so sure that by the time he finally grew the balls to confess, that Simon would still not have a girlfriend.

Until he found out about you.

[goodboyyyy]

Another hot summer day working out with your neighbor Tommy. You guys had been friends when you were kids, and stayed that way in highschool, both sticking together as two skinny nerds like you would. You went to different colleges, though, and when he came back the next summer he was like a different person. You'd changed too- you'd finally gotten the courage to come out at college- but nowhere near as much as him. You'd guessed he must've been a late bloomer, or that puberty had really done a number on him- his pale, skinny frame was now full, thick, and covered in hair and muscle, and where he had just had some stubble and peach fuzz before was now covered in an equally full, thick beard right above his beefy neck. He had a couple tattoos too, on his broad lats and bulging biceps. Most strangely, he'd had a cross necklace on- both of you had never been that religious.

Still, he was pretty cool with you, even after you came out to him- almost more after that- and started inviting you to workout with him. You didn't have much else to do over summer break, and figured it would be good to start getting active. Your new boyfriend at college would probably appreciate the results.

"Damn, I stink!" he said with a dumb grin, lifting his pit and giving it a long sniff.

You stared at him, confused.

"What? You don't do this?" he asked.

"I really don't," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Gross," you thought.

He shrugged. "I guess I used to think it was weird too when I'd see guys do it at the gym. But once I started lifting and got that testosterone pumping, damn! My pits started to leak all the time. I'd just be sitting there watching TV, get a whiff of something, look down and see these bigass pit stains under my arms," he said, laughing dumbly. "I'd have to change my shirts 3 times a day, even if I was just chilling."

That got you kind of hard, to be honest. He gave his pit another whiff until the smell started to make his eyes water. "Ah, fuck yeah," he said shaking his head. You stared at it, the sweaty, dark hair under it binding together from how wet it all was. You looked down at your own. They were sweaty, but only because you'd been working out. Otherwise you never sweated much.

"C'mon man. Give it a try. There's nothing like inhaling your own hard earned sweat after a workout," he said in his deep voice.

You did, but it didn't really smell like anything, which you told him.

"Haha, that's cuz you just started working out bro. I remember those one-shirt days. Enjoy em while they last," he said with a dumb laugh. Then he smiled goofily. "Nah, you need to see what I mean. Wanna lil preview of what you'll smell like soon?" he said, quickly swiping his finger through his pit and towards your face.

"Fuck off ma-" you yelled, backing away, but a few drops of sweat from his dripping fingers landed on your face. The first hit you right under the nose, filling it with his musky scent. The next two landed right in your mouth. You barely noticed, barely tasted the sweaty drops, but something in you changed as his sweat ran down your throatm soaking through your skin and into your bloodstream. You wanted... more of it suddenly.

"Haha, that's what's up man," you said, your voice now as deep as his. "Yo, can I get another whiff? You fuckin reek, bro." He really did, haha.

"Dig in bro," he said with a laugh, lifting his arm again. His bicep rolled up into a mountain as he showed off his sweaty pit.

"Good shit man," you said, diving into it and giving it a whiff. It didn't make you turned on exactly- moreso enraptured, like something in you was awakening- like a deep instinct.

"Haha, you see what I mean now bro?"

"Fuck yeah," you bellowed.

Your hands roamed over the muscular, hairy peaks and valleys of his chest.

"That's a good boy. You like this body, baby?'

"Yes," you spluttered from under his pit.

"Why?

"Big... strong... hairy."

"That's right boy. I'm a fuckin man now. Fuck that skinnyboy nerd shit. You know how it feels walking around, knowing you can fuck whoever you want? One look, one fuck and these bitches are beat over me, texting me nonstop, begging to have this cock again," he saudm grabbing at his junk through his shorts. "Once I got a taste of this, why would I want anything else? I know we fucked around and did nerd shit in highschool, but its time to be a man now. That's it boy. Lap it up. Drink up all that testosterone. It's just gonna amplify what we've been getting going in your system the last couple weeks."

"Yeah," you said, barely noticing that your voice was deeper every time you spoke. "Yeah, good shit bro."

"Alright, enough for now. Time to finish benching. I'll spot you."

You slid onto the bench, energized. You usually wobbled and had awkward placement, but now you slid back onto it like a pro, arching your back as you gripped the weight. You friend stood over you, dick eye level with your face to spot you. You pumped a rep out, inhaling deep on the way down, then coughed. A blast of his musky ballsweat seeping through of his shorts filled your nose.

It was so pungent that it made your eyes start to burn. You were about to say something when the weights shot up higher than ever before.

u9His ballsweat smelled even better than his pits had. You felt blood rushing into your pecs. Another rep. You felt the pump getting stronger and stronger, like your chest was going to burst. Another rep. Another inhale. Another whiff of his ballsweat. He nodded. Another rep. A bed of sweat dripping off his nose into your open mouth. You swallowed it. Your chest felt like it would explode now- your arms, lats, back and biceps too- all doubling in size with each rep as his extra testosterone coursed through you. You stared up at his big, hairy chest towering above you. You needed to look like that, a primal voice in you said. If you were still cavemen, he'd be an alpha- strong, powerful, virile, spreading his seed. What would you be? Weak. No. You were a man- you couldn't be weak. You had to keep lifting. Get bigger. Stronger. Your eyes glazed over as your arms moved automatically now, up, down, up, down. A thin layer of hair started to grow over your suddenly huge chest, getting darker and bushier with every rep.

He smiled down at you, feeling your now hairy chest, nodding and smirking as you continued to work. It made you want to push harder. He lifted his arm behind his head again, flexing his big bicep. You stared in awe. Ten minutes ago you'd've wanted them cuz they were hot; now you wanted them because you wanted to be big like him. Powerful. Masculine. Built.

He reached into his pit with his free hand, coating it in sweat and moving it towards your mouth, which opened automatically for it. You were still pumping out reps, just starting to feel tired, but when that sweaty hand hit your mouth and your tongue instinctually swirled around it, licking up every drop, it was like you'd just begun. You grunted as the hair on your own pits there got thicker and darker everytime you lifted the weight. His hand went back to his pit, coating it in sweat, in all his excess testosterone, and back in your mouth. Your shoes ripped as your feet went from a size 8 to a size 15. A thick beard appeared on your face where your patchy facial hair had been. Musky sweat was leaking out of your own pits now; you inhaled the scent deeply, grinning. You smelled like a man now- fuck yeah. It made you push even harder as you felt your cock and balls got thicker, heavier, making room for all the extra seed you'd spread now. Your friend smiled down at you, nodding in approval as your bulge expanded.

"I think you're good man," he finally said. "The last few bits will finish up even if you stop now with everything we've got pumping through you. I'm really glad we still have so much in common after all the years, man. Same time tomorrow?"

"For sure. I'm glad too, brah," you said, racking the weight and sitting up. Something hit you in the face. A gold cross chain had appeared around your neck. You stared at, confused for a minute till you remembered you'd always been pretty old school, traditional and religious. All you wanted was a nice wife, one who'd be traditional like you, cook your meals, wash your clothes, rub your feet after a long day, serve you like a wife should and fulfill her role.

You'd cheat on her, of course. Your cock was too virile to be satisfied by one pussy. But that would just make her love you more, try harder. You'd just have to pick the right one and slowly chip away at her till she'd put up with anything for you, till she was addicted and begging for your approval. You'd put babies in her, raising them into more nice strong, religious men- and bring them up to be just like you. You'd accept nothing less.

And that's just how it happened. You spent the rest of the summer pumping iron and sweating it out with your bro by day, comparing how bad you smelled and laughing like idiots. Working out outside bronzed the thick, muscular skin under all your body hair, giving you a hot glow that was great for when you spent the night hitting the clubs and bagging chicks by night.

Every now and then you'd feel yourself question things, wonder if this was what you really wanted from life. For some reason, it felt like there was something more you'd imagined, once, or something different. But it was like whenever that happened, you'd feel your dick suddenly start getting hard, distracting you, pulling your focus. The more you tried to remember, the hornier you'd get, till the thoughts drifted away and you were practically feral, consumed with thoughts of fucking or lifting. You slowly had the thoughts less and less till you stopped having them at all. Your life was pretty great now.

[hanbinics]

you should to tattooartist!matt and sunshine!reader who doesn’t know what tattoo to get so he gives her something random. and when she goes home and sees it in the mirror it’s his phone number or ‘pretty’ or smth flirty like that

a/n. first of all, i'm so sorry for getting to this so late!! also, i immediately had an idea when you said !sunshine reader, so this is a little softer/cute but still flirty! hope you still enjoy it. x

matt watches with the corners of his mouth curled into a smirk as you sit in the waiting area with a black binder resting over your bare knees, the fabric of your criminally small skirt shifting with each bounce of your legs. your eyebrows are lightly knit together as you flip through different pages of the binder, obviously concentrated, and he can't help but feel a twinge of amusement at the sight of you. finally, he decides to speak up.

"y'almost ready, sunshine? or are you backin' out?" he asks with a raised brow, forearms leaning against the countertop in front of him as he takes you in.

he watches as you look up at him in surprise, mouth falling open slightly as you seemingly flounder for something to say. he might be a little annoyed if you didn't look so cute.

"s'alright if y'wanna take some more time to think about it, but uh.. we do close in about an hour.." he trails off as he glances up at the clock on the wall before squinting back down at you sympathetically, watching as your own pretty eyes widen the slightest bit in realization. he's almost positive you're just gonna turn and walk out in embarrassment, pink cheeks and all, but he's surprised when your face hardens slightly, and you shake your head.

"no, i— i want to do this, i just.. i don't know what to get," you finally admit sheepishly, your shoulders slumping as matt watches your body deflate with defeat.

"everyone in my life teases me for not taking risks, and i just thought this would be a cool way to prove them wrong, but... maybe they were right. i don't know what i was thinking," you mumble, sorrow gaze drifting down to the binder you'd left sitting on the chair. he'd watched as one of his coworkers handed it to you upon your arrival, overhearing your conversation about not knowing what to get and needing inspiration.

matt studies you quietly for a few seconds, watching as you seem to grow more embarrassed with the growing silence, your arms pressed close to your chest as if you're caving in on yourself with insecurity. just when it seems like you've lost all hope, the brunette purses his lips and comes out from behind the counter.

"where, uh— where y'wantin' the tattoo?"

you blink up at the stranger, clearly bemused. it seems to take a second to register his question, but when he raises an eyebrow down at you, your mouth parts with a soft stutter, and you straighten up slightly.

"oh, um.. i don't know, i guess maybe.." you trail off, glancing down at your own body as if you're suddenly not so sure you know it all that well, like you need a better view of the landscape you're working with, and matt breathes out a short chuckle.

"hey." he steps forward, tilting your head upwards with his index finger until you're looking directly at him, your skin warm beneath his fingertips. "you wanna take a risk, right?" he asks, waiting with expectant blue eyes as you flush underneath his gaze. he has to stop his mouth from twitching into a smirk at the sight, waiting until you nod as best as you can for him.

"alright then," he all but hums, nodding his head slowly as his gaze rakes over your soft, pretty features, tongue wetting over his lower lip. "get up on that chair for me over there, will ya'?"

matt releases the delicate curve of your chin, already beginning to step away from you so that he can get his tools ready in order to tattoo you. he's focused on the cleaning of his instruments and the preparation of the session, but he'd be lying if he said his attention didn't shift to you a little bit, watching with a strange sense of satisfaction as you do as you were told, hoisting yourself up onto the leather chair waiting next to his tray of instruments.

his mouth twitches, gaze falling down to your bare thighs pressing into the leather where your skirt falls short. "good girl," matt mumbles thoughtfully, and you hope to whoever is above that he doesn't notice the way your legs subtly squeeze together instinctively.

you watch with bated breath as matt begins to work on a stencil, your heart racing in your chest. the thudding in your ears leaves you embarrassed that he might hear it himself, but really it's just the bit of panic etched into your pretty features that has him smiling softly.

"relax for me, ma. haven't even started yet," he hums jokingly.

the softness to his tone and the pretty shade of his eyes allows you to suck in a deep breath as you relax into the chair, trying to calm your racing heart and allow someone else to finally take over.

it's not until later, in the quiet of your bedroom, that you're finally lifting up the fabric of your skirt to take a look at the fresh ink tattooed there, your pulse quick with anticipation and each breath leaving your mouth in short, shaky intervals.

it takes a minute to register what you're seeing, but when you shuffle a little closer to the long mirror resting against your wall, you realize that the small tattoo etched dangerously high on your thigh is a cute little doodle of a sun, and immediately the flashback of matt greeting you earlier today rips through your mind: "y'almost ready, sunshine?"

you're so caught up in the cute ink and the reference behind it that you almost miss the fact that the rays of sunshine coming from the tattoo are actually roman numerals. this has your brow furrowed as you tilt your head to the side, trying to decipher the numbers and pull out whatever elementary knowledge you might still have stored in the back of your brain—that is, until you cave and google each roman numeral.

and as you decode the last one, your mouth twitches into a shy, giddy smile, your cheeks warm as you once again look at the new ink from your reflection in the mirror because suddenly matt's departing words about not having an excuse not to call him later makes a lot more sense with his phone number tattooed into your skin.

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: " I shouldn’t be watching a man undressing, especially not from the house next door."

Warning: Fluff, kiss, impure thoughts, conversation about sex, masturbation, doubts and more doubts.

A/N: Here I am. As a thank you for all the wonderful comments, I will post two chapters today. (To be honest, I already have some stories in mind, but I want to finish Pure Attraction first, so I need to do it a little bit faster.) Keep interacting and voting. Don't forget: VOTE! It brings engagement and more motivation for the author!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 8

I wave to my mother inside the car, as she reverses in front of our house and leaves, driving down the street of our neighborhood. Eunji works at a medium-sized company and travels a lot for a few months of the year, when she needs to present a new project. It's not new to me. I am used to being alone for some days; what makes me think, however, is Jungkook. I look at my neighbors' house out of inertia, seeing him at the living room window, reading some book. He notices me, opens a mischievous little smile, and waves, winking. My cheeks burn with his attention, and before I can embarrassed myself, in any way, I close the door and quickly step inside.

I still can't believe what happened last night. It feels like an unreal dream. If I didn't have marks and hickeys on my neck and breasts, I would have accepted that it was all a figment of my imagination and that Jungkook and I didn't end up together. I feel scared because I don't regret it and want it to happen again. I don't know where I'm getting myself into, and each time we meet, I sink deeper and deeper into this situation. I feel apprehensive because what I feel for him, I've never felt for anyone else. His kiss when he said goodbye, his dark and big eyes on mine... Just remembering it makes me shiver.

I start to organize myself because I need to take a look at the thrift store. It's been a while since I last went there, and I don't know how is doing. My day goes by quickly, and I return a bit earlier than expected because the movement wasn't very good. I attended to three customers, and only two of them bought something. I climb the stairs at home, tired and hungry, my stomach growling because I didn't even have lunch. I throw myself on the bed and close my eyes, not caring about the heavy clothes I'm wearing. I could sleep even in a costume, that nothing would disturb my sleep. I take off my sneakers with my feet and sigh, relieved to be home.

A few minutes pass when I feel fingers on my thigh, lifting my denim skirt towards my intimacy. I jump up, startled, when I see Jungkook on his knees on my mattress, his face close to mine. He laughs, noticing my surprise, doesn't say a word, and simply kisses me, brushing his lips against mine. I savor his taste in my mouth, silently asking him to deepen the caress and use his tongue with mine; however he pulls away, gives me a peck and another, before standing up completely.

"I could call the police." I joke, brushing the short hair from his face. The haircut is not much different from the previous one, but it makes him look more handsome, if that's even possible.

"I do everything with consent." He mocks, lying down beside me.

"I didn't give you any consent to come into my room. How did you get in?"

"The open window was very inviting. I couldn't resist." He shrugs, smiling.

"Why did you come here?" I raise my head, focused on his rosy lip when he pouts.

"I came to get you." Jungkook says, stretching on the bed. He lifts my right leg, caressing my skin. "And that's not a request."

"I don't even know where you want to take me." I comment, swallowing hard. I laugh a little, feeling the tickles from the tips of his fingers. "And I'm tired. I worked at my mother's store and at the library. And today is Tuesday. I'm dead."

"Your mother went traveling, didn't she? Enjoy it while she's not home."

"How do you know she traveled?" I raise an eyebrow, curious.

"She told my mom some time ago." He shrugs, as if it's simple.

"She only told me last night." I growl, irritated. My mother always does this, telling me her plans always at the last minute.

"I thought you knew. That's why I came here. When the king is in the castle, one cannot court the Princess. Everyone knows that."

"In this case, I would be the Princess?" I laugh, finding it funny.

"Yes. You are definitely Rapunzel. Have you noticed that your life is literally living in a tower?"

"I'm touched."

"It's serious. Come with me." Jungkook asks, whispering, squeezing my thigh. I smile knowing that, the way he asks, I'll never be able to say no. I sigh and roll my eyes.

"You convinced me. Tell me where we're going."

"It's not a very surprising place." He speaks carelessly; suddenly, his cheeks turn red, and he pinches the lobe of his ear, embarrassed. That makes me even more curious. I wonder what he plans, and even though I'm tired, I nod and get up from the bed.

"Alright, you made me curious. But I'm hungry and need to eat something before we go." I say, wrapping my arms around his neck. I kiss his lips in a quick peck, tasting him. A voice in my head tells me I shouldn't act so affectionately because I'm not his girlfriend –or anything like that –but the way Jungkook responds quiets that voice and reassures me it's ok to touch him like this.

"I'll order something for you to eat." He smiles simply. Before I can argue, he crouches down, takes my foot, and pulls off my sneaker. I watch everything, worried and fascinated, relaxing my leg so he can finish the task.

I really like Jungkook. I've admitted that, and it's not very hard to notice. I did things with him because he makes me feel confident in my own skin, and that does me good. He is funny, talented, kind and sarcastic, and even though I don't know him well, the things I know about him make me admire him. The problem is he might still love his ex, and I don't know how far I can unleash my own feelings. I'm afraid of having too many expectations and ending up frustrated and disappointed. He treats me very well, but does that mean he reciprocates what I feel, or does it just mean he is a gentleman who knows how to take care of a woman?

"Done." He says, finishing the knot of my shoelace.

I smile at him gratefully and feel his hand holding mine as we walk down the stairs. I lose a bit of my smile, seeing our fingers intertwined, but I say nothing. I promise myself that I will enjoy the moment and keep my paranoia to myself, for now.

"Are you really not going to tell me where we're going?" I ask when we reach the sidewalk. He shakes his head and laughs before stepping away.

"No. You'll have to wait a little." He replies, opening the gate to his parents' garage. I stand still, waiting for his car when I'm surprised to see Jungkook on a motorcycle, with another helmet on his right arm. I open my mouth, totally impressed, looking from end to end at how huge the thing is. Now I understand why Mr. Jeon was worried, when he mentioned his son's mean of transportation, last night at dinner.

"Shall we?"

"I've never been on a motorcycle." I comment weakly, afraid of falling before I even get on the back.

"Everything has a first time." Jungkook bites his lower lip, watching me mischievously. My face heats up when I remember he said the same thing to me, when I sucked his dick in my room.

"Jungkook, how long have you been riding this thing? Did you pass your practical test on the first try?" I ask, sarcastically. He laughs, rolling his eyes.

"I promise you will come out alive from this." He guarantees with cynicism. He stands up, turns around, and goes behind me. "I'll tie your hair up, wait a bit."

I wait patiently while he holds my rebellious strands and ties them with some elastic. Jungkook takes the helmet from his arm and looks back at my face. He seems super focused and serious, furrowing his brows and making sure my head is indeed protected. He gives a little smile and sits on the motorcycle, waiting for my turn. I am a bit awkward, not quite sure where to support myself, but Jungkook doesn't mind and holds my leg so I can settle in securely. I wrap my arms around his waist, and with my heart racing, I wave between his shoulder and neck.

"We can go." I confirm, uncertain. Almost at the same moment, Jungkook revs the engine and takes off down the street at speed. I hold on tighter to him, tense. I hear his laugh and know he did this on purpose to tease me. I hit his arm, pouting, and sigh, feeling the nice end-of-day breeze.

It's scary, fascinating and a fantastic moment. With the motorcycle rolling, I can follow the sunset, which transforms the blue sky into orange and the usually polluted air, into something purer and cleaner. It's a feeling of freedom, enjoyable and terrifying, the same I have every time I'm with Jungkook. I hold on tighter, happy for the new experience I'm living.

It doesn't take long before the motorcycle stops in the city center. Things are quite busy, with people walking from one place to another and the stores bustling with customers. I can't remember the last time I came here, even though it's so close to my house. I get off awkwardly, and Jungkook follows right behind, taking off his helmet.

"It's here." He smiles happily, pointing behind me. When I turn around, there's a large sign saying "GOLDEN TATTOO" with Jungkook's name, on a seemingly new and well-lit wall. "I managed to finish the renovation today, and I wanted to bring you here to see the place. You'll be the first person to come."

"It's perfect!" I sight, impressed. I'm left speechless as he opens the bulletproof glass and enters the place, as if he were familiar with the environment. It's different from what I expected, with gray-painted walls, plants everywhere, and illustrated designs in large frames. It's a place I would feel comfortable in, even if I came alone. "Did you decorate it?"

"Yes. These last few days, I worked with a design team to organize everything the way I envisioned it. It took a lot of work, but I think it's finally all ready."

"It's very beautiful." I smile, touching one of the frames on the wall. It's a tattoo of an eye, apparently feminine and brown. It's so realistic that it feels like it's looking in my direction. I analyze the drawing so much that Jungkook laughs, lowering his head.

"Did you like it?" He points to the frame, smiling. I nod, touching the picture.

"It's spectacular."

"I drew it." He explains, coming up behind me. My heart skips a few beats when his arms wrap around my waist, and he presses his mouth against my ear. My spine freezes, and I get all goosebumps, from the last strand of my hair to the tips of my toes. "Come here, I want to show you something."

He pulls my hand and guides me to a room with white walls, some utensils and machines that, even as a layperson, I know are for tattooing. It's a very clean and sterilized place, with masks, disposable gloves, and colored inks in a glass and wood cabinet. The almost obsessive organization doesn't surprise me. When I saw Jungkook's apartment some time ago, I realized he likes everything very well organized, and his workplace wouldn't be any different. He sits me on the waiting sofa, and I observe some drawings in a black folder on the coffee table.

I don't know many people with tattoos, and I've never taken the time to appreciate this type of art, but I like what Jungkook does. He creates realistic designs, but most of them have fine and delicate touches. It's interesting to get to know another one of his sides that makes me more enchanted by him every day. I glance at my phone, thinking of my mother suddenly. I shake my head, determined to expel my restlessness. All these worries don't matter right now. She's out of town, and I need to stop tormenting myself about her. Jungkook appears at the door, almost as if he knew I was lost in thought, and smiles at me, mysteriously.

"What do you want to show me? I'm almost going crazy with curiosity." I confess, excited. He smiles, holding a roll of plastic wrap in one hand and raising a tablet in the other.

"I'm going to end your curiosity now." He says. "It's nothing special. I'm just going to do a tattoo on myself."

"What? Another one? Didn't you do one the day before yesterday?" I exclaim, opening my mouth in disbelief. He laughs at my surprise, as if he had said the most ordinary thing in the world.

"I've done tattoos on myself a few times; it's not a big deal. And I have to take advantage because the healing time is always restrict with food."

"Don't you feel pain while doing it?"

"I do." He confirms, shrugging. "But it's not unbearable, and I can stay still the whole time."

"Are you some kind of masochist?" I tease, watching him. Jungkook wraps the plastic around the tattoo machine and on the bench beside me without pausing.

"It's a nice pain." He smiles slyly, licking his lower lip. "It's almost like when I spank your butt. Don't you feel pleasure when there's a bit of it?"

"Jungkook!" I reprimand, my face burning with embarrassment at the question. He really has no scruples. And neither do I, because I hate to admit it, but I actually enjoy it when he spanks me.

"Some types of pain are bearable and nice to feel. You should try it." He suggests, sitting beside me.

"No, thanks." I decline. Just the thought of a needle piercing me, makes me anxious.

"Scaredy-cat." He mocks. He raises the tablet and shows me the drawing. It's a pink, reddish flower. It's a beautiful and interesting drawing, but apparently painful if done by oneself. I grimace, pitying him.

"What does it mean?" His face turns red suddenly. He looks at his hands and bites his lips, thoughtful.

"It's the flower of my birth. The tiger flower." He diverts his gaze from mine, leaving me confused.

"What is it?" I ask, laughing. Generally, I'm the shy one in the relationship.

"It's nothing; it's just that... it means 'please, love me.' I think that phrase is so beautiful and, at the same time, so sad."

"Please, love me." I repeat, testing the words on my tongue. It really is sad but touching. I wonder, however, why he chose that tattoo. "Are you sure you can handle it?" I question, worried, somewhat skeptical. Jungkook turns completely to me and narrows his dark eyes, looking at me.

"Of course I can. Don't doubt my abilities."

"I'm not doubting." I explain, putting my hands in front of my body to defend myself. "It's just that it's a drawing with many details. It's normal for you not to be able to do something like that in a short time. It's already seven."

"Let's make a bet?" He suggests, brushing his hair from his face. I get excited about the proposal, nodding my head.

"Sure, why not? But what can we bet on?"

"If I can't finish the tattoo in two hours, you choose something for us to do together." The dark-haired boy explains, running his fingers on my thigh. A shiver runs up my spine as he trails his fingers on my skin, slowly lifting my skirt with ease.

"Do something together? Like what?" I frown, curious. He smiles, this time wickedly. His hand goes from my thighs to my neck, pulling my hair back. He entwines his fingers in my strands and caresses my scalp with his thumb. A breath of arousal escapes my mouth, beyond my control.

"Anything. You decide."

"And if you win the bet, you do whatever you want with me?" I tease, laughing at my own question. Jungkook doesn't deny it, however, looking at me with a serious expression that, if it weren't for the situation, would disturb me.

"I already know what I want." He says in a husky voice. "If I win the bet, you touch yourself in front of me, like I asked you to."

"J-Jungkook! I can't do that." I choke, shaking my head. I would die of embarrassment. I've tried a few times to touch myself, I confess, but I never succeeded. I always felt awkward, as if something was missing. As if I were a complete weirdo for even trying.

"Are you already thinking about losing? That's not how bets work."

"I've never bet on something like this." I laugh ironically, trembling. His hand releases my hair but doesn't stop touching me. He slides his palm further down and caresses my stomach, which bubbles because of him. I'm so entranced by his touch that I can't stop him and let Jungkook slip under my shirt, heading for my breasts, covered by my bra.

"Think of the other side. If I lose, you can do whatever you want with me." He argues quietly, giving a small smile.

I start imagining what I would do with him if I won the bet. I'm not very creative, but something that really excites me would be to bring him to the edge just like he did with me last night. He denied my orgasm, and I want to do the same with Jungkook, over and over again. Of course, I would have to be very confident, and I don't know if I could achieve my goal, but I think it's worth a try.

"Alright. I agree." I nod nervously. He approaches with a sideways smile and tucks my hair behind my ear, before closing his eyes and kissing my mouth.

I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen our kiss, massaging his mouth with mine. I bite his lower lip, only satisfied when I hear a rumble from him deep in his throat. He smirks between caresses, stops, and attacks my neck, licking my skin and leaving a thin trail of saliva. Weeks ago, I couldn't even imagine a man without clothes in front of me, and now all I want is to suck him off and feel him come in my mouth, just like last night. I still remember the result of his pleasure flowing down my throat, and my desire to repeat everything we did makes my brain intoxicated. I'm completely lost in wanting this man.

"A kiss to seal the deal." Jungkook grunts and pulls away, his mouth swollen. I try to continue the kiss with the excitement eating me from the inside out, but he smiles and stops touching me completely. "I have to start this tattoo if I want to win the bet."

Jungkook stands up and sketches the rose on a piece of paper. My head disconnects from reality while he begins the work. I pick up my phone for a few seconds and see the time passing. I would be more worried if my mother weren't out of town. I leave the sofa, needing to pee, and open a door marked for the bathroom. I take care of my business and look at myself in the mirror. My face looks apparently normal, if not for my flushed cheeks and red lips from the kisses. I splash a bit of water on myself, and when I feel calmer, I return to the tattoo studio. The machine works continuously, and Jungkook seems submerged and engrossed in his task, furrowing his brows, totally focused.

I shouldn't have accepted this bet. Jungkook has several tattoos, and it's obvious that his pain tolerance is high. I know he will win. The way he remains silent and effortlessly pierces his own skin tells me that sooner or later, I'll have to fulfill the difficult challenge. I bite my lip, watching the drawing of the flower being completed as the minutes pass. It's a very time-consuming process, but minutes fly. I am so relaxed and still that I could almost fall asleep listening to the buzzing of the needle.

"Y/N, I ordered food for both of us." I hear his voice suddenly. I jump a bit because I didn't notice he was talking to me, lost in my own head. "I hope you like pasta."

"I really like it, thanks." I say, shaking my head. I'm really hungry.

Before long, someone rings the studio's doorbell. Jungkook even tries to get up to answer the delivery person, but there's no way I'd let him go outside when he's so focused on his own work. I go outside and grab the food bag, seeing that he ordered beer, pasta, fries, and a can of Diet Coke for both of us. I'm happy to notice, in such a simple gesture, that he remembered I don't drink alcohol. My mouth instantly fills with saliva.

"I think you're not going to win the bet." I comment, sitting back on the sofa. I separate my food from his, tasting the delicious vegetable sauce that is the most tasty thing in the world. At least that's what my stomach thinks, given how hungry I am.

"I'm almost done." He brags, still tattooing himself. He passes a paper to remove the excess ink from his skin and raises an eyebrow confidently. "I can't wait to see you touching yourself."

"That's not going to happen." I guarantee with a certainty I don't have, blushing and taking a sip of the soda. It's refreshing, going cold down through my throat.

"Let's see if it won't. Do you really think I'm going to miss the chance to watch you masturbating?"

"Jungkook..." I mumble, covering my face. "Don't you have any shame? Stop saying those things."

"Don't worry, Y/N." He smiles, confident in his victory. "You still have a reasonable amount of time to get used to the idea."

"Focus, Kook." I change the subject; my heart races just imagining myself in that situation. He falls silent and bites his lower lip, looking at me from head to toe with such hunger that makes me nervous and excited. I swallow my food as he returns to tattooing, wondering if he will really finish the drawing in time.

And he does. Of course, he does. In the end, after one hour and forty-five minutes, Jungkook has a new complete drawing on his right arm, along with other tattoos that adorn his body. I finished my food just in time to see him ending everything with mastery and calm, as if he wasn't worried about our bet. His hungry eyes find mine, and I know exactly what he wants. I swallow hard, squeezing my thighs together.

"I think I deserve my prize since I won the bet."

"Y-yes." I respond, trembling. My heart beats loudly in my chest, and I have to breathe deeply to finally realize that I don't feel fear, not even a hint of hesitation. All I feel is lust and desire. A longing to have him closer, to touch him in his rawest form. I sigh, watching him stand up and walk calmly towards me, like a predator; a lion eyeing its prey. I shrink back on the couch, small, now that he is standing. His knee sneaks between my legs, and separates my thighs before he squats down, and brings his face closer to mine.

"I don't want you to touch yourself here." He whispers, like a secret. His dilated pupils when he gazes at my mouth. "In my apartment. In my bed. I want you there."

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

@ane102 @joonwater @ttipa

[madamechrissy]

Hello, dearest!

I saw your comment about having to read Sukuna fics before writing your own. As a Sukuna enthusiast, I have a few to recommend, if that can help you.

The stories below are some of my favorites. I’m not a fan of true form Sukuna, so you won’t find any here (just not that much into monsterfucking *shrug* ).

Hesitance

Synopsis: sukuna is a gym owner and is very fond of his least productive employee.

I like this one because it’s a well-rounded idea of who Sukuna would be as a normal human. Also the vignettes keep it light, while exploring different ideas easily. 

The F*ck List

This is the series that made me start reading fanfiction on Tumblr. It’s multi-character (with a big Gojo part, which you may enjoy. The Nanami part is also just delicious ;-) ), but Sukuna’s characterization is interesting and multilayered. He also has an extra short fic and he’s in the F*ck the List sequel too. This series is long though, so after you get the gist of the plot, you could decide to skip to the Sukuna part. although…it’s all very good and I recommend all of it 😛

They kiss on the ring. I carry the crown

This is a Yakuza Sukuna who is interested in you (a realtor). There are also follow-up shorter fics. I looove the universe that was painted here, including his relationship with his brother (see spin-off short fics with Yuji too!)

The same author has plenty of versions of Sukuna. I also enjoy their hockey player Sukuna series:

I wanna be your Endgame.

The rough yet cerebral version of Sukuna (also, a fuckboy…) is just perfect for me. I smell an ending coming, but I don't want it too. This fic has great smut, but I come back for the very satisfying fluff.

Roommate Sukuna

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! 

I like how this one has a more punk version of Sukuna. He’s rough and mysterious. Unfortunately, the series is now on hold, and just when it was getting good!

Hunter and Hunted

College (summer) break au: a fic in this y/n is pining over Yuji's older brother Sukuna, while unbeknownst to her, Choso is doing the same thing for her. 

This is a harder Sukuna, but with some evolution. Can’t say much more without spoiling it, but the characterization is very different from the other ones on this list.

So, that's it! I hope it's enough material to give you some inspiration on crafting your own Sukuna.

Happy writing!

Aww thanks SO much, you're the freaking best. I will def get into these so I can get more into Kuna. I appreciate you taking so much time sharing all of these! <3

[rea-grimm]

Weapon Diavolo

Diavolo, heir to the throne and one of the most powerful weapons in the world. It was one of those weapons whose Masters were the Reapers themselves. 

Like Barbatos, you were in his service. You were his bodyguard and his best friend. That was because his parents assigned you to him at nursery age. 

Ever since the mark appeared on your wrist and he had perfected his mastery of his weapon form, he had been searching for his true Master. He wanted to find him before he took the throne. 

After a long failure to find his master, Diavolo decided to take a drastic solution. He decided to hold a giant ball with a banquet to which he intended to invite all scythes without masters and all masters with the scythe mark. He didn't just want to help himself, he wanted to help others. 

That was one of the few things you liked about him. He always thought of others, even when you reminded him to be a little selfish. 

Diavalo wanted you to attend the ball as guest of honor and enjoy it to the fullest, but you refused. You had a duty to be his guard. Besides, you had a hunch he might be your weapon. 

From the moment the mark of the weapon appeared on your hand, you covered it up. It was the mark of the scythe. Sure, it could have been anyone who was a scythe weapon, but you were very close to the prince. So close that at times you were tuned in to the same wave, you understood each other perfectly, you complemented each other. 

The ball went well and many new pairs of allied masters and weapons were born. Diavolo sat on the throne and tried one master after another. You could see it was gnawing at him. He really wanted to find his true master. However, despite this, he tried to look cheerful and enjoy the festivities as much as he could. 

You stood by his side so as not to get in the way, and you oversaw the entire event. Everything went smoothly. Music, laughter and general good cheer wafted through the room. Barbatos made sure there was plenty of everything and nothing was missing. 

Once the ball was over, Diavolo bade everyone farewell, collapsing wearily into his throne. He didn't understand how he hadn't found his scythe yet. He even complained to Lucifer. Barbatos tried to calm him down when the prince looked at you. 

"Y/N, what kind of weapon sign do you even have?" He asked you, since you barely talked about it in front of him and he had no recollection of what kind of weapon you were supposed to wield. 

"I have a slashing weapon," you replied. He didn't want to tell him that you had a scythe mark on your arm. Diavolo looked at you and saw clearly that you hadn't told him the whole truth. 

Before you knew it, he took your hand and pulled you down to his throne so that you were now sitting on his lap. He held you around the waist with one hand while with the other he removed the wrist guard that covered your tattoo. 

"I knew it!" He rejoiced when he saw your mark. Before you could say anything in response, he turned into a weapon and landed in your hands, leaving you with no choice but to grab him. 

As he did so, a strange, pleasant feeling passed through you, as if your soul was finally whole. A light enveloped you, and when it dissipated you were dressed in a suit that clearly depicted Diavolo.

The prince then changed back, all excited that he had found his true master after all. And he was even more thrilled that the master was you. When he saw your expression, however, he wasn't entirely sure you felt the same way. 

"You're not happy?" He asked, concern and slight disappointment in his voice. Despite that, he tried to be positive. 

"I... it's not fitting for a guard... someone like me..." you began. You were going to say that it wasn't fitting for a royal weapon to have a commoner as its master. 

"Stop. Wait. Don't talk about this at all. It doesn't matter at all. What matters is that you are my true master and I am your weapon," he jumped in. 

You wanted to say something back, but you were at a loss for words. And to make it even harder for you, Diavolo took you gently by the chin and kissed you. In that moment, it was as if everything else melted away. It was as if your souls were connected. 

"I know you're as happy as I am," he said as he pulled away and stroked your cheek. You had no idea how he did it, but you could never refuse him. You always had a soft spot for him. "How about you give us both a chance. I'm sure it will be worth it," he added gently. 

You merely nodded your head in agreement and you felt your cheeks flush after the kiss and you felt like your ears were on fire too. It was true that you were glad that he was your weapon, though part of you was still afraid of what others would say.

Obey me! Masterlist

[yushiteru]

yushi balance game (about his preferences in a relationship)

a/n: this was posted on twitter by a korean fan who asked yushi these questions during a fansign so i thought i could translate them bc dkfhgdfg yushi pls i can only handle so much sources: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven

to lead vs. to be led

-> to lead

an exciting/fluttering relationship vs. a friend-like relationship

-> exciting relationship

i only see you vs. only look at me

-> i only see you

say "i love you" everyday vs. kiss everyday

-> kiss everyday

a clumsy/inexperienced person (in a relationship) vs. a skilled/experienced person [t/n: i don't know if this is implying what kind of lover yushi wants to be or wants in a lover, but either way hjdfgkj]

flirt/have flings/date around with 1 person (at a time) vs. date around with multiple people

-> 1 person

if we break up, that's the end vs. we can meet again

-> meet... but doesn't really know

when yushi likes someone, he expresses it vs. he hides it

-> expresses it

yushi has a lot of jealousy vs. doesn't have any jealousy

-> has a lot [t/n: bruh]

yushi likes outdoor dates vs. indoor/at home dates

-> outdoor dates

obsessiveness [from partner] is okay vs. i don't like obsessiveness

-> doesn't like it

morning kiss vs. goodnight kiss

-> goodnight kiss

i like [when the other] plays hard to get vs. i don't like playing hard to get

-> its fine/not bad

when we fight: resolve it right away vs. after hours

-> resolve right away

nickname/petname: jagiya (baby, sweetie) vs. yeobo (hubby/my husband, wifey/my wife, honey)

-> jagiya [t/n: this is kinda funny because yeobo is mainly used by older married couples so his answer is pretty... predictable. but a little korean lesson: '여보' is derived from the words '여자' (yeoja) meaning 'woman' and '보' (bo) meaning 'husband'. it is a more formal and traditional term, often used by older couples or in more conservative settings. '자기야', on the other hand, is a more casual and affectionate term used by couples of all ages, but more commonly by young couples. it is derived from the word '자기' (jagi) which means 'self' or 'myself'. it is a term that expresses intimacy and closeness between partners.]

holding hands vs. cheek kiss

-> holding hands

contacting a lot vs. moderately

-> moderately

you're mine vs. i'm yours

-> i'm yours [this is where i died]

(these next few are about his ideal type) innocent vs. cutie vs. sexy

-> cutie

aegyo vs. 시크도도

-> 시크도도 [t/n: i'm not familiar with this term, but from what i can gleam, i think it means something along the lines of chic and sassy, but can also mean snobby/bratty in other contexts. i think overall the questions asks if he prefers someone who acts cute or someone who can be playful and banter with him, but correct me if i'm wrong.]

tattoo(s) vs. no tattoo(s)

-> no tattoo(s)

[a/n: these were not from the same event, but i found them on op's page and i wanted to include them hehe]

Q. what can someone say to him that will give him confidence that they will like yushi for a long time

-> "let's love forever"

Q. if i were your girlfriend, what would you want me to say to you?

-> "i like you because you make my heart flutter"

Q. what would yushi want to tell me if he had a crush on me?

-> "that i love youuu~~~~"

[julians-muscles-and-tits]

Yep even with JP looking like this I still would LMFAO 🥴

[crossbackpoke-check]

yOu'Re gOiNg fOr a LiTeR? | "Habs react to Quebec Maple facts", 10.22.24

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Well, he was talking to me again. Now he's gone. Approaching three days now with no word. Legitimately don't understand. How can you be telling someone how much you want them and then not say shit for several days? This is what happened last time he stopped talking to me, too. It's as if he has to go do a hard reset for a week any time he shows vulnerability. I get that so many men are taught that emotions = weakness, but this is wack. Pack that toxic masculinity bullshit up and fucking kiss me already I swear to god.

[tonycries]

Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now. 

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be. 

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What? 

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird. 

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer. 

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street. 

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing. 

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.” 

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation. 

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?” 

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?” 

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from. 

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.” 

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now. 

“Alright. Plan B, then.” 

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you? 

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner. 

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head. 

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.” 

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly. 

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house. 

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins. 

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app. 

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo. 

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least. 

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in. 

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner. 

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in. 

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual. 

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed. 

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside. 

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you. 

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking. 

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner. 

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit. 

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you. 

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders. 

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now. 

Gathered here - for you. 

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them. 

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.” 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second. 

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane. 

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.” 

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily. 

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up. 

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru. 

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold. 

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to. 

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list. 

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain. 

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands. 

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod. 

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight. 

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting. 

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it. 

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.” 

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~” 

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.” 

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger. 

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. 

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours. 

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table. 

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before. 

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

 Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today. 

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic. 

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.” 

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.” 

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave. 

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.  

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach. 

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it. 

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were. 

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.” 

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.” 

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip! 

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically. 

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub. 

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard.  “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now. 

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.” 

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please. 

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him. 

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-”  You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want. 

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue. 

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear. 

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time. 

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. 

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now. 

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all. 

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back. 

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.” 

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard. 

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything. 

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot. 

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock  like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be. 

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much. 

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy. 

“Close?” 

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper. 

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now. 

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him. 

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

[fatherbrat]

thinking about incubus!sukuna, who visits your dreams for the first time when you're several months into a dry spell. you welcome him in, eager to get off at the hands of a large, tattooed, multi-armed demon, even if it is only in your head. that first night, you cum three times—once with his fingers and twice with his mouth.

you wake up soaked and elated.

he appears to you for the second time later that week. just like the first time, he wastes no time getting to action, sitting you down on his stomach and eating you out with the mouth on his torso. he holds you down with two hands and clasps the other two behind his head, propping himself up at the perfect angle to watch you writhe and moan on his oversized tongue.

the next week, he makes you cum with just the tip of one of his huge cocks, slapping your clit while you clench around the head. it takes a couple more visits before he finally fucks you, sinking into your cunt with so little warning that you nearly lose your breath. you barely last a few minutes, not with him making you feel so full. your orgasm is so intense that it brings tears to your eyes, and you swear you see a smirk on sukuna’s normally impassive face.

this goes on for weeks: he appears in your dreams, makes you cum a few times, and when you wake up there's nothing to prove he was there except for your damp underwear. you have to start showering in the mornings instead of at night, and your mood has improved enough for your friends and coworkers to ask if you’ve started seeing someone. you start looking forward to going to bed every night, always hoping that that night will be one where he shows up.

incubus!sukuna doesn’t speak to you much, save for a few words of praise when he knows you're about to cum. because of this, and because you're too focused on your own pleasure during his visits (who could blame you?) you don’t notice when he starts becoming restless, unsatisfied with only being able to fuck you in your dreams.

it doesn’t take long for him to decide he needs to fuck you when you’re awake.

part two here

[furuu]

‎𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ˳ 　　　It was late, and the house was quiet as you shifted uncomfortably in bed. The cramps had been gnawing at your abdomen all night, making it impossible to fall into a deep sleep. You tried not to move too much, not wanting to disturb Sukuna, who was resting beside you. He rarely seemed vulnerable, but in his sleep, his sharp features softened just enough to remind you that even the King of Curses needed rest.

But no matter how hard you tried to keep still, your body betrayed you. A small, pained groan escaped your lips as another wave of cramps tightened around your stomach, causing you to curl in on yourself. Sukuna’s body twitched beside you, and for a moment, you thought he was still asleep. Until you heard it—a low, rumbling growl from deep in his chest.

You froze. Was he... growling?

It took a few seconds before you realized what was happening. The faint scent of blood must’ve hit his heightened senses, and like a predator picking up on the tiniest shifts in the air, Sukuna was reacting to it. His brow furrowed slightly as he inhaled through his nose, the smell of your period filling his senses. He shifted in his sleep, instinctively moving closer to you, a territorial edge to the way his arm draped over your waist.

You could feel his fingers twitching against your skin as if unconsciously staking his claim. Another small growl escaped him, softer this time but no less possessive.

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open, and you found yourself face-to-face with a very awake—and very intense—Sukuna. His crimson gaze locked onto yours, still hazy from sleep but filled with an unmistakable sense of protectiveness.

“You’re in pain,” he said gruffly, voice low and rough from sleep. “I can feel it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, your face flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just… cramps. It’s nothing, really—”

His grip on you tightened just slightly, cutting off your sentence as he stared at you, his eyes narrowing in a way that left no room for argument. “Dumb girl,” he warned, as if what he said before was the most obvious thing in the world. His tone was matter-of-fact, yet there was an underlying possessiveness in the way he said it, as if it was something unbreakable. “I will keep you safe, as your king.”

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Sukuna, it’s just—”

“I don’t care what it is,” he interrupted, his voice softening just a little, though the stubbornness was still there. “Your body is suffering, and I will ease your pain.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the intensity in his gaze left you speechless. He didn’t just want to help—you could tell he needed to, like some primal instinct had taken over. Just like how animals got protective and snuggly around women on their periods, Sukuna’s instincts were flaring up. You could see it in the way his muscles tensed, the way he hovered protectively over you, as if keeping you safe from something unseen.

You sighed, feeling your embarrassment wash away as you realized how serious he was. “It’s just… it’s a little embarrassing,” you admitted softly, looking down. “I don’t want to bother you.”

Sukuna let out a quiet snarl of irritation. “You’re my mate. You’ll never bother me.” He shifted, pulling you closer into his chest as his large hand splayed across your abdomen, the warmth of his palm immediately soothing against your aching muscles. “Let me take care of you.”

Despite the initial embarrassment, the heat of his body and the firm but gentle pressure of his hand on your stomach made you relax. The pain wasn’t as sharp with him so close, and the reassurance in his gravely voice eased some of the discomfort in your chest, too.

You snuggled into him, allowing yourself to rest against his tattooed chest. His growls quieted into a soft rumble, more like a contented purr now, as he nuzzled his face into your hair.

“I’ve got you,” Sukuna murmured, his voice a quiet, possessive promise. “You’re mine. No one gets to hurt you. Not even your own body.”

And even though it was still a little embarrassing, you felt safer than ever wrapped in his arms, knowing that he would always be there to protect you—even from something as simple as cramps.　　‿ ݂۫ ׄ ༊࿔

[simonsrileyhusband]

nsfw:

simon and reader who is in an "open" relationship.

the night your boyfriend brought up the idea of an open relationship your heart crumbled, but you agreed due to being too afraid of losing him. his idea of open was bringing people over an fucking them in your shared bed while your hid your teary face the next morning.

that was until you met simon at a bar, it was a night out with your friends, drinking to forget the person your "boyfriend" brought home last night.

his big figure sat at the corner of the bar, ordering shot after shot of whiskey, his accent thick as he talked to you and heard you rant and complain about your boyfriend.

"wanna give him a lil pay back?" he asks, glass against his lips and a cocky smile, you feel your cheeks heat up.

"what do you mean?"

"i think you know what i mean sweetheart."

simon walked home with you as you were too scared to get on his bike, his big frame making you feel minuscule as he walks a few steps behind you. you talk all the way back, a bit nervous as you see the lights on your apartment on.

once the both of you walk in he gets cocky, looking at your flustered face as you grab his hand and lead him to the couch.

"wanna drink?"

"i think we had enough lovie, just enjoy the moment." his hands went to your hips, pulling you to him, making you fall on his lap. his kisses were suprisingly soft, his calloused hands rubbing your body in all the right places.

he stood up, your legs wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him, between kisses you lead him to the guest room. he gently placed you on the bed.

he took of his hoodie, you bite your lip as you see his tattoos, his big muscles and the veins that run all over his arms.

simon smirked as he crawled in bed, on top of you.

that night, he made sure that you were loud, hitting all the spots your boyfriend could never, touching and squeezing your body like no one, spanking and kissing at just the right time.

the next morning, when simon was sipping on a cup of coffee, only a towel around his waist, he smiled brightly at your "boyfriend".

"mornin', rough night?"

lets just say that your "boyfriend" wasnt happy about it, and you broke up with him.